Friends Are Always the Best Lovers
by Lynn Kroto
Summary: A short, one-shot FrUk AU fic where Arthur and Francis learn that the most wonderful things are usually the most plain to see, but only after you start looking for them.
1. Part One

Friends Are Always The Best Lovers

"I'm just trying to get more people to like me..."

It sounded like the voice of a kicked little boy, and the man who the voice belonged to certainly looked the part. His dirty blonde hair seemed to cooperate less than usual, his green eyes dulled, and clothes rumpled from long days spent watching two energetic boys. Arthur had been having the worst week he could have possibly remembered. He had just finished telling Francis, the long-haired, blue-eyed Frenchman standing opposite him, about how rough things had been. It all started when their oldest son, Alfred, had taught Arthur how to use an American accent and lots of the modern slang that went with it. However, after attempting to use it out in public and getting several odd looks and no positive feedback, he was feeling bashed.

Arthur Kirkland was not the popular type of guy. He was British, which accounted for most of his personality. He was proper, rather stingy, a hot-head, and a terrible, terrible cook (though he liked to think his stellar embroidery skills made up for that). He was, however, incredibly smart and good with his two sons, along with other small children although their loud noises scratched his ears in a way nothing else did. However deep down, when you got close to him, he loved like no other and was protective of the things he held most dear. It was a very small window for people to peek through, but no matter how large it was, it was always there.

If Arthur was like that, then Francis was definitely the Mitchell to his Cam.

"Well I like you, and zat should count for everzing, mon amour."

Francis Bonnefoy was Arthur's opposite; a Frenchman with a strangely charming disposition that seemed to lurk behind his blue eyes. He was, true to his nature, an artist with both foods and paints, with a songbird's voice and was practically the male equivalent of Marilyn Monroe and Audery Hepburn put into one. Because of this, and because he could easily get away with it, he loved love. Affection. The act of kissing of having sex. Physical contact. A mental connection. It was a whole array of things that he _craved_ with every fiber in his body and failed to receive from the person he needed it most from.

Francis was not all tough talk and pretty face. He had the most insecurities of anyone on the planet, keeping them well hidden. Usually covering them usually led to the extremely rare over-emotional crying session that lasted so long he made himself sick. Francis was so desperate to please people, to make good and lasting impressions at any cost. So many things came into conflict with that want, and the way he portrayed himself on the outside. He bottled fear, boxed anger, packaged jealousy, and stored them all in neat little shelves inside himself. After there became less room on said shelves, though, then things got messy. And he always cleaned it up alone. Yes, Arthur knew nothing about this, and Francis kept a jar of the guilt he felt for hiding it in the very back, so that one would never topple over. He had to stay strong and make that impression for Arthur.

It was a damn miracle how they stayed together for as long as they had. Every possible thing pointed the other direction. Arthur was up-tight; Francis was extremely laid-back. Arthur was a neat freak; Francis would habitually leave clothes around. Arthur didn't like being touched; Francis loved to touch people. Arthur was English; Francis was French. Anyone who knew a bit of history knows that the two countries have been at each other's throats long before the Hundred Years' War. There was no reason why they should love each other at all. But they did. It was affection slid under doors and pushed through the cracks of windows when their practically marital bantering was absent and they both weren't occupied elsewhere.

This was a convenient system they had had for some time. No one really knew when it started. Arthur insisted that they had always been this way since the day they met, and ever since then the Frenchman absolute disgusted him. Francis believed, on the other hand, that there had been a point when they would laugh and talk together for hours about anything during the day and go drinking in the afternoon. Arthur always said Francis was delusional and that he had no reconciling of those days. That hurt just so happened to be stored on the top shelf and was gathering a bit of dust because it had not resurfaced for so long until now, when Arthur felt the need to brush it away and try again. Try again to find other people to fill the supposed empty spaces he believed were in his life. The problem was, there were no empty spaces. The person that was filling them just had no idea he was doing it. This created a gap in their system, and that gap was the subject of friendship.

"But I want _friends_, Francis, because now I just have... _you_." That stung, probably a little more than Arthur had intended. Francis, as we know, brushed it back into a corner and crossed his arms.

"And what is so bad about being stuck with me? I see nothing wrong with zat!" He shifted his weight to his other hip and lightened his tone with a lovely smile. Arthur felt an ache in his chest and automatically assumed it was because of Francis's teasing and the constant hurting of those gaps. A hint: That wasn't it.

"Don't get me wrong Francis. I don't despise you. I just want friends that won't shove their hands down my trousers every chance they get," the Englishman explained calmly, sitting down in their suede couch. Their living room felt quiet for a moment. Francis took a glace around. It had changed since they bought the house; lighter walls, more pictures, decorated curtains. Over the years there had been several more additions; toy chests, patterned blankets and quilts, smaller chairs covered in printed fabric for Saturday television time in the mornings. They had made a home, Francis, Arthur, and their two children, and their joint efforts of simply being there did most of the work. The tallest sighed, lowering himself into the armchair across from the other.

"Well, if zat is what will make you happy," he said reluctantly, and he could hear Arthur let out a relieved breath. Francis deiced he might as well assist this slow process rather than cripple it. Maybe it would knock sense into Arthur sooner. "'Ow can I help?" The Englishman sat straighter suddenly, and shook his head at Francis.

"Please, don't. I want to make friends on my own. I'll go... take a walk...or something." He let his voice drift off. He really had no idea what he was doing. Arthur did not have as many issues as Francis, but one of them was trying new things, alone. Just the thought made him feel extremely self-conscious.

"Alright Angleterre." Francis was complying nicely today. He knew this inner soul searching stuff was big for Arthur and that his determination was boundless. "Zen I'll just wait here in ze house with Matthew and Alfred until you get back," he offered, standing and beginning the cross to the kitchen. Truth was he had no idea where their kids were. Matthew and Alfred would always run off and cause all sorts of trouble that usually end up in a broke vase or mud tracked all through the house. This was all orchestrated by Alfred, of course, the oldest. Matthew was too quiet and shy to do any damage on his own. Together they were the most troublesome kids Francis had ever had to deal with, and although he minded it a bit, they were cute. And that made up for everything.

"Wait!" Arthur sprung up from the couch and reached out to Francis but did not actually touch him. When the taller turned, rather surprised, the Englishman quickly lowered his hand. He didn't like his partner to see those moments of weakness. "C-Could you..." he was having such a hard time forcing himself to speak. If he wanted it so bad, why was it so damn hard to say? "...maybe...come with me?"

There. There it was for just a second.

This fondness was folded into the words and actions of that very moment and they both caught it, and they both did different things with it. Arthur basked in it, sucked it through the pores of his heart, and for once instance those gaps were gone. Francis took one of the many empty containers and corked it inside, storing it away for those gloomy moments when he didn't have Arthur to look at.

As quickly as it had come; it was gone. Swept away by the next words from Arthur's mouth not a half-second later.

"And just call Antonio up and have him watch the kids? It's not like I want you to come or anything!" he finished hastily, face suddenly going red and hands clenched up by his sides. Francis smiled teasingly, and Arthur couldn't see the warmth that was flooding through his chest.

"Of course I can, zough I do not zink Lovino will be too happy about being stuck with ze kids again," he replied, making his way over to the phone sitting in the corner of the counter. The Englishman followed close behind, smiling to himself and rather glad he wasn't going to have to do this all alone. However when Francis grabbed the phone and turned to rest his back on the counter, Arthur's demeanor changed back to the protective mother-bear state.

"Like hell we'd let Gilbert do it again! Last time he brought beer! And he let the kids drink it! Just call Antonio." He, likewise, leaned on the opposite counter and watched Francis snort in a laugh.

"It was only a little sip, nozing zat could have hurt zem," and he pressed the buttons on the phone before holding it to his ear and listening. Despite that Arthur continued to glare at the other and open his mouth.

"A sip?" he exclaimed, aghast, "Alfred was hiccuping when we got home!" Francis shrugged.

"Well maybe 'e just had ze hiccups!" He knew it wasn't the good, parental way to react, but Gil was his friend and that meant sticking up for him. Arthur huffed irritatedly, shaking his head.

"I still don't trust him." More head shaking, and Francis rolled his eyes.

"Alright, alright." He would have heckled more, but the line picked up and Francis's face took on a grin again. "Bonjour Tony!" He paused listening, and the Englishman watched his face take on a look he only saw when he was with Antonio and Gilbert, when he was around friends. Arthur, as he was bitterly reminded, didn't really have friends, and that look seemed so lovely. His thoughts were shaken with a laugh from the taller. "No, actually, Eyebrows and I were wondering if you could watch ze kids for a bit." Arthur glared poisonously at the other.

"Don't call me Eyebrows, frog."

"Shh," and Francis put a finger up to Arthur's mouth. He blushed bright red as the taller kept talking. "Just a few hours, nozing extensive."  
>"Mhmhp," Arthur tried to speak, but his partner shushed him again.<p>

"Arthur, you are being awfully noisy, shh." The Englishman crossed his arms a pouted, which Francis smiled at. It was a rather lovely touch to the cherry color of his face. "Five minutes? Zat would be lovely Tony." Francis cocked his head and listened some more. "Merci beaucoup. We can talk payment when we get back, Eyebrows 'ere is anxious to get going." He listened for a few seconds longer as Arthur kept glaring, and said a few last goodbyes before hanging up and setting the phone back on its stand. "You are so noisy Angleterre," he chided, lowering his hand.


	2. Part Two

"Well you're _insulting me_ in front of your friends!" the smaller snapped, looking rather upset that Francis was not acknowledging his feelings were a bit bruised. Upon seeing that the Frenchman wasn't going to change his stance on the issue, he shook his head. "By the way, what did the damned Spaniard ask you about when he picked up?"

"'E was asking if I had drank all ze Spanish wines I got from him last week," he replied, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Right. We still have _those_." Francis returned the eye roll, a little less irritatedly.

"'E said 'e would be over in five minutes with Lovino. His brother is visiting from North Italy, but Feli is a darling boy, so zere is nozing to worry about." Arthur still didn't look convinced, and if Francis had to put a direct word to it it would have been displeased or completely unamused.

"I just hope he's not half the little snot Lovino is," the smaller said with a bit of a scoff, rolling his eyes and looking extremely annoyed. The Frenchman laughed easily, trying to dissolve some of the stress and tension that floated around the other like a black cloud.

"'E is lovely! Very nice and sweet and cute. And 'e is almost as good a cook as I am." Francis figured comparing the boy to himself wasn't that great of an idea, since he knew Arthur wouldn't want another "damn frog" in his house.

"Great." He actually sounded rather uninterested compared to the irritation Francis thought he would hear. "Anyway, where are the kids? Shouldn't we tell them we're leaving?" He started back into the living room to go down the hall to the boys' room, Francis still leaning on the counter.

"Last I checked zey were lugging all zeir toys into ze backyard..." he called, and the quick footsteps stopped, there was a pause, and then the Englishman trudged back, previous expression wiped with a mild form of depression.

"Great. Just what I needed. More toys to wash," he groaned, standing in the middle of the entryway with his head in his hands. He was tired, and upset for no reason. His version of what PMSing was to women, if one would. Fingertips touched the backs of his hands, and he peeked between his fingers to see that Francis was now standing in front of him.

"Let's just go, Arthur. Zey'll be fine until Tony gets here." After he said that, Arthur almost melted in his hands and said yes. _I want to go right now_, he wanted to say. _Let's just go right now, and get a room for a week in Paris so I can love you and not have to worry about anything_. But of course he didn't. That wasn't like him. So he slapped on the annoyed face and took a rough step away.

"I don't think so. Antonio will be here in a few minutes and we can wait until then. We're going out for _me_, you realize," he explained, glaring. "You're just there in case someone jumps me." It was the defensive comment of a guilty man, and Arthur knew that's what it sounded like. Thank God Francis was too shallow to catch that. Alright, he wasn't shallow, but he simply passed that up. He knew exactly how Arthur felt, so he metaphorically brushed it of his shoulder with a laugh.

"Shouldn't you be worried zat it will be me who does ze jumping?" Arthur blushed, shaking his head and trying hard not to smile. So what came out was a half-scowl, and a rather goofy look.

"Please, I'm susceptible to that at home." Francis smiled, and was going to step up to him again, when in mid-stride he was stopped by the doorbell. They shared a small glance. "Zey got here quicker zan I thought," Francis commented casually, backing away from Arthur and walking towards the door. The smaller paused a moment before following, half-wishing that it had been a kiss the buzzer interrupted. Before he had time to make any kind of confession, it had to be crammed away as Francis opened their front door.

There were three men on their doorstep. One was tall with dark hair and green eyes, dressed comfortably with a permanent smile stuck on his lips and hands tucked in his pockets. The other two were very similar in appearance, one with dark hair and the other one with light brown. One had his arms crossed and a scowl on, the other was grinning and practically radiated happiness. Arthur stood behind Francis as the taller smiled wide and that gleam returned to his eyes. Jealousy flared thick through Arthur, and he watched in envy as the other greeted each guest in turn.

"Ah Tony!" He pulled the tallest male into a tight embrace.

"Mi amigo!" And then the blonde moved to the scowling boy, who did not look very happy about his hair being ruffled. "And Lovino!" Said person cussed under his breath, continuing to glare until the taller of the three patted him on the shoulder. This small act went, of course, unnoticed by Francis who was already eyeing the last. "Little Feliciano! You're not so little anymore! Please, everyone, come in," and he stepped back with a sweeping arm. Arthur had since retreated from behind the other, and stepped up to Tony as Francis closed the door behind the three.

"Nice to see you again, Antonio," he said, holding out his hand. Instead of receiving a shake like he had been expecting, the Spaniard pulled him against his chest.

"Ah, Eyebrows! It's been too long!" Arthur blushed, worming both hands between their bodies to pry Antonio off of him.

"Please call me Arthur, Antonio," he replied, trying to hide his embarrassment. The dark-haired male waved a hand dismissively, not caring that he had made the other feel uncomfortable. That was another thing that Arthur didn't like; even people like this, people that Francis was good friends with, seemed to shake him off like it was nothing. That had always irritated him, and so he returned to his partner's side, looking for consolation he wasn't going to ask for and he knew he wasn't going to get.

"Uh-huh. So where are my favorite little Kirkland-Bonnefoy boys?" Tony asked, smiling wider and throwing his arms out. From one of his sides, Lovino's face went a bit pale and he kneaded his bottom lip between his teeth. For a moment Arthur recognized himself in those eyes, desperate for attention. Arthur mentally berated himself. He was not an attention whore like Lovino was. He was just...needy. Gah. That wasn't helpful either. So he took to replying to Tony, despite the fact the he didn't hold high record in Arthur's book.

"In the back, destroying my yard." His voice was flat like soda that had been shaken too much. That's what he felt like, like he'd run himself into the pavement and just didn't care anymore.

"Ooh, sounds like fun! We'll leave you two squirrels to have your fun!" Before either Francis or Arthur knew what was going on, Tony had shoved their coats into their arms and pushed them out the front door. It slammed in their faces, and faintly they could hear the footsteps of the males running into the backyard. Francis was taking it well, slipping on his jacket and buttoning it up. Arthur was fuming again.

"What the bloody hell! What does he think he's doing? It's not like this is a bloody date night or anything!" he exclaimed, pointing at the door with a face red with anger.

"Of course it isn't!" It was said rather suddenly, and Arthur turned to see Francis smiling at him. "Zis is a very serious quest to find you some friends Angleterre." The Englishman blushed darker, turning away from the door and slipping his arms through the sleeves of his coat.

"And don't you think otherwise!" Arthur snapped.

"I would not even dream of it Arthur," the Frenchman said, stepping off the porch and starting down their driveway to the street. Arthur jogged to catch up, falling into step beside the other.

"Where the hell should we walk, anyway?" he asked, trying to ignore the fact his face was red.

"Where ever ze best friends are, of course," the long-haired male replied, as if that was the most natural answer in the world. "Or maybe we should just walk and see where we end up." The look he gave Arthur was a different variation of one he had seen many many times. The seductive tone only remained in the way he tilted his head and the way his eyebrows raised, but other than that, everything had become softer, and instantly Arthur was hit with a reminder of their earlier days when that look greeted him every day. It had been so long since then and for the moment Arthur couldn't remember that look and what it meant.

"A-Alright." His voice stumbled out, tripping over itself before landing in silence as the two made their way down the drive into the winding neighborhood streets. Arthur glanced over at Francis, and noticed his hands were tucked deep into the pockets of his jeans. That made him a little disappointed, and he could feel his shoulders get heavy with the weighing fact there would be no touching, and that was partly his fault. He had said this was for friends after all. But now he didn't seem so sure. That insecurity was coming back, and it seemed to be following him with every quiet step. "So..." the Englishman said, fracturing the silence. "How was work...?" His answer was a groan, and Francis's mood dropped. His partner could feel it too.

"It was 'orrendous. Everyzing was all backed up and I of course got all ze blame for not keeping my people in zeir lines," he complained. Just thinking about it gave him a headache. Arthur wanted to reach over and take his hand and tell him it would be fine, but he had to keep _himself_ in line, and settled with a sympathetic smile.

"That sounds horrible. I hope things are better tomorrow." Francis laughed, and that drew the smaller's eyes over to him.

"Once you cook somezing edible, dear Arthur, z_en_ zings at work might start to get better." The Englishman glared over. The insult was meant to be teasing, but it bruised Arthur's pride. He wouldn't let Francis know that though, because that meant more pestering. Again it was covered with what it always was, a blushing face and an uncaring outer shell. He crossed his arms and put on a pout.

"How do you even relate those two things! You just want to pick on me!" The taller must have noticed that Arthur had taken on the defensive because he smiled lightly.

"I am merely stating ze improbability of zings getting better, Angleterre, nozing more." That was also startling, and it caught Arthur off-guard. He didn't know Francis to be the pessimistic one. His concern was show purely through the eyes.

"So you're saying you think nothing will get better."  
>"No, no. I am not saying zat," Francis explained. "I'm only saying zere are some zings zat will never change. For example, we will still be picking up after our children and wiping zeir snooty noses even when zey are out of the house and we have grown old togezer. We can always count on zat."<p>

Oh God.

Growing old together.

That phrase was stuck on repeat in Arthur's brain, over and over. Up until that sentence, it had been getting through the day without strangling each other, and the furthest they thought ahead was the weekends. Up until then Arthur hadn't even thought about what he would do when he was older. Up until that moment when Francis swung open a door, Arthur had had a small impending fear inside his chest occasionally that, after the kids had grown up and left, Francis would take off. He didn't even know why he thought that, there was no reason for that idea to be in his head. But he was scared of being left, somewhere inside that terrified him. Right then he wanted to grab Francis, allow himself to be hugged and kissed, to break down and spill everything. Growing old together.

Those words never sounded so wonderful.

–

_He was sitting in an armchair, legs wrapped in a blanket and reading a book. The pages are worn, and in one corner he sees the mark of a crayon. It makes him smile, and his eyes drift to the table where sits a picture of both his sons,vacationing together in the sun. They are grown; Al twenty five and Matthew twenty two. Arthur smiles, sad, but a grin nonetheless. The house seems rather empty and quiet now that they're gone. When they visit though, those are some of the best days. Arthur feels hands touch his shoulders, and he tips his head back to see Francis smiling down at him. His face has hardly changed, the teasing smile still there. Arthur felt himself blush as the Frenchman leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. _

_ "Dinner is ready Amour." He stays a while longer to kiss Arthur's cheek, then his mouth, long and slow, and they don't have to worry about being walked in on anymore. When the Englishman finally pries Francis from his face and gets up, the two men slip their arms around each other and walk to the table. They still sit in the same seats beside each other like they used to, leaving the two across from them empty. They still grope each other under the table, Arthur still blushes and leaves when he gets uncomfortable, and Francis always waits because he knows the Englishman will come right back to him. Always._

–

That picture was stained into his brain, at the very front, and it was a considerable pause before another gust of wind blew him back into the present, and he looked over to his right. Francis was looking at him, waiting for a reply. He stumbled over words more than usual, because those eyes were the same ones he pictured. Again he felt the overwhelming urge to burst into tears and ask for kisses and hugs because that was all he wanted. He never did. Instead his mouth tried for words again, only barely grabbing some and throwing them out.

"W-Well you're still implying my cooking won't improve, even though I _have_ been getting better. Anyway, it's not like I was upset about you picking on me in the first place!"

"Well if you do so happen to be ze slightest bit upset, je suis désolé," and Francis slipped his hand out of his pocket, extending it palm up to the other. The Englishman didn't hesitate to take it and lace their fingers together, so tight circulation was cut off for a moment.

"I wasn't upset, but I accept your apology nonetheless, frog." Arthur smiled over at the grinning face next to him.


	3. Part Three

And soon the words started to flow, one seamless line of conversation between the two. It was impossible to determine where it started, something just slipped from one mouth and then the next. There were no filters on what they said and did; Francis did not coach himself on making a good impression, Arthur didn't reserve his laughter or pull on the irritated mask. The blushing was still there though, just more graceful and less upset, if that was the word, than it had been before, as were Francis's teasing remarks but their nature seemed to have changed as well.

Several people passed by, and there were many chances for making new friends, but Arthur passed up every one to laugh at a joke Francis had made or tease him about something. It was not that he was ignoring them, on purpose, he just did not _see_ them. All his attention was focused on Francis and all the lovely things he had to say, and how lovely _he_ was, and the way he talked and walked. It had the feel of a first date all over again, because for the moment they seemed to be on one. There was no kissing, no touching, not even the raging feel to act a certain way. It was just Arthur and Francis.

For the moment they weren't married. They didn't have kids, and no one else existed on that planet but them. Those were the ideal conditions in which the friendship between the two thrived. Not that they couldn't be friends while they were married, or when the kids were around, or in a world of 7 billion people, but they had to learn how first, baby steps, keep the training wheels. That's what that "date" was; training wheels on their relationship outside the bedroom. The Frenchman did not interfere with this subconscious process, seeing as he _had_ been asked not to help and even he had no idea what was happening. Time passed as almost one consistent line of motion, and before they knew it the quiet suburbia passed away and they were swept into the charming bustle of their smallish town.

By that time it had gotten windy and the sky was beginning to cloud over, but they weren't rainclouds so Arthur and Francis continued to talk and walk without a break in voice or step. They had wandered around town for a while, not going anywhere in particular and catching up on their window shopping before one broke chat.

"I'm rather thirsty..." Arthur said absentmindedly, looking across the street to a small coffee shop. It was a quaint place, just the sort of setting that he loved. In fact it almost looked familiar, like the place of a date the two had been on once before. Francis followed his eyes, and he unlike the Englishman remembered the boutique as the place where the idea of staying together had been proposed casually, months before it actually happened.

"Well zen. Arthur, would you like to 'ave tea with me?" he offered. The smaller snapped his head back around to Francis, cheeks red and hot.

"T-this still isn't a date! I'm still looking for friends while we're there!" Francis raised a blonde eyebrow, casting a quick skeptical glace over before checking the street.

"You 'aven't talked to anyone yet," he commented as he and the Englishman hurried across the street.

"They all didn't look up to my expectations," Arthur replied quickly, blushing again as the two slowed to a walk and entered the cafe. The inside was full of the delicious smells of coffee beans and fresh pastries, and it welcomed the two males in with smiles on their faces. It was also full of people, loud and noisy, gaggles of friends or singles, even another few pairs.

"Your expectations are obviously too high." Francis was able to raise his voice above the clamor so Arthur could hear. The Englishman snorted as they made their way through the crowd, the taller keeping Arthur close as so not to lose him.

"I live with a Frenchman who is a high standard in and of himself. He has, regretfully, rubbed off on me." Arthur had to shout as well, but Francis could hear and laughed.

"Zen you have great taste, mon cher." They fit themselves into the shortest of the three lines, which was still rather long. It was so noisy inside, so the two didn't say much else. They just stood, getting jostled and bumped together by the people around them. After only about a minute Francis seemed to notice Arthur was looking a little...up-tight, more so than usual. "Are you alright Angleterre?" he asked, and Arthur moved closer to he didn't have to shout.

"I hate the smell of coffee," he said, wrinkling his noise. The taller chuckled and pulled the Englishman into his side.

"I don't smell like coffee." Arthur laughed as well, but happily took up the offer and buried his face into Francis's jacket. The java smell was replaced with cologne and the faded new-jacket scent, and not only did it smell comfortable, it felt that way too. Francis could tell Arthur was making himself at home there in his arms, and he smiled to himself. He bent down and kissed the closest part of Arthur, which happened to be the tip of his ear, and even that was hot with embarrassment. It was a bit hard to advance in the line when the opportunity presented itself, but they managed, Arthur still avoiding the smell and Francis being rather happy about that. Upon reaching the front of the line, the taller of the two ordered them both tea, since obviously coffee was out of the question. If Francis wanted the other to keep hanging onto him like this, it would have to be tea. Arthur had, of course, momentarily removed himself from Francis's person for the sake of his outer image when reaching the register, but as soon as they had their cups in hand, he once again leeched onto the other. They had managed to work their way over to one corner of the long counter by the window, where one stool was sitting open pushed against the wall. Francis extended his arm to the chair, but Arthur pushed him towards it.

"We can both sit better if you do first," he said, face growing red. So the taller sat and the green-eyed male eased down carefully on his lap, just on the edge until an arm pulled him back against his chest. Arthur didn't try to struggle, instead relaxing and resting his head against Francis's chin. It was a little quieter there, where neither of the males had to raise his voice to speak to the other yet there was enough background chatter that, if neither of them felt like talking, it wouldn't become awkward. So that's what they did, listen to the noises of others around them until Arthur had mapped out in his mind how this conversation would go. "How do you do it?" he asked.

"'Ow do I do what?" Francis replied, and the smaller adjusted himself so he could twist his head to see the taller properly.

"How do you have so many friends?" The answer did not come right away. Francis had to sip on the tea and think about that. Truth was he didn't have very many friends either, just Gil and Tony. Those were the only people he was close too, except for Arthur. So he said just that.

"You and Tony and Gilbert are ze only ones I am very close to."

"I know that," Arthur replied, "but people notice you when you walk down the street. They want to talk to you and know you." Francis laughed, shaking his head.

"Would you really want zat? To be stared at when you're just going out to ze store and pestered when you don't really want to talk? I don't zink you would like zat very much." They both took a pause to sip on their tea, and Arthur spoke up first.

"It's better than being ignored." The manner in which he said that struck Francis in the heart. He knotted his fingers into Arthur's jacket and kissed the back of his head.

"Mon Amour, you are not being ignored. Why do you feel zat way?" Arthur laughed nervously, drinking to give him something to do while he thought about why he felt this way. And came to the conclusion, rather quickly, that he felt that way not because of his lack of friends, but because of the way he was with himself. Never allowing his lips to be kissed when other people were around because he was embarrassed, depriving his skin of love because he was self-conscious. He only shook his head. He couldn't say that.

"I guess I'm just being silly," and he blushed again. Francis knew better than to pester further, because Arthur would get irritated again and it would ruin this streak they had been on. There was tension again now, to do and act a certain way but that only stayed for a moment. The Frenchman sensed how important their proceedings had been, so he ignored it and plowed on.

"I wonder how ze kids are." Arthur looked to him. This was the first time Al and Mattie had been brought up all evening. This mention didn't stress the Englishman like it normally would have. It was simply their conversation moved to a different level, or smaller training wheels. Now they had to try this family stuff with their new found friendship, even if they didn't know that's what it was.

"I'm sure they're alright. Tony is usually very good about watching them. It's Lovino I'm worried about. He's a bad influence on them, and I don't want Al turning out like that."

"'E will be fine, no matter how much zat boy is around," Francis reassured the other. "'E 'as good parents to keep him in line like 'e should be." The Englishman smiled warmly, and that was that. The subject was never touched on again, of whether they were good parents, or how their kids were doing at the moment. Of course Al and Mattie came into conversation, but not in that context. That was still too fragile.

Their walk back was almost identical as the walk to town; holding hands and talking. This time they tried for more affection, something connected to the fact they were married and this is what they were supposed to be doing. Francis would kiss Arthur on the cheek, Arthur would sneak a peck on the jaw and then look away with a face red, but he was always coaxed back around for a proper smooch on the lips. Despite this, the conversation did not change, nor did the people. Francis didn't try to take things further, and Arthur did not close himself off into that corner where Francis wasn't allowed to touch him. In fact as they got closer and closer to home, that corner got smaller and smaller, until is almost didn't exist anymore.

Two things had been accomplished during that afternoon. One, Arthur couldn't tell where the gaps had come from, because now the idea of a gap like that was absurd. Despite the fact he had determined about half an hour into their walk that he wasn't going to find any new people, he had found a new Francis, so to speak. The one that was less perverted and more the quiet boy he had seen sitting at a bus stop the first time he saw him, weeks before they actually met. The second accomplishment was made by Francis, who was now aware of the situation between the two of them. He had a life inside his family and outside as well. Arthur on the other hand focused all his time, energy, and love into those three people in his life. It was not that he couldn't make friends, it was that there was no need for them. He had everything he needed inside that house and inside Francis. Those gaps came from the Frenchman's ignorance, and now that he knew that, said gaps had fully closed.

By the time they got home, the sky was a deep blue and stars poked their heads through the clouds. Everyone in the house was asleep; Alfred and Matthew in their respective beds, Antonio passed out on the chair in the living room, and Lovino and Feliciano curled up together on the couch with the television still running. Arthur slipped off while Francis woke Tony and helped him transport both sleeping Italians to his car. Arthur was back downstairs to stand with his partner at the window and watch as they drove away, holding onto each other. After the vehicle turned the corner, the house was dipped into the nighttime. It was such a nice feeling that neither of them spoke as they went upstairs and into their bedroom.

They didn't even bother to turn on any of the lights, shutting the door and walking across the floor to their closet. Francis popped the door open, snaking his arm inside and flipping on the light before going in and pulling the other with him. Arthur shut the door quietly behind them, turning to find Francis already undressing. They stood back to back (and they didn't really know why) and began getting out of their day clothes.

"I noticed you did not talk to a single new person today, Arthur." A pause as the shirt was lifted over his head. "Why is zat?"Arthur didn't have to think about that.

"I don't know," he replied with a laugh. "Friends is hard, I guess."

"I'm sure you'll get ze hang of it," Francis encouraged, smiling and chancing a glance over his bare shoulder. Arthur had stopped undressing, standing in his shirt and briefs, staring at the wall. He could hear clothes shuffling behind him, and then a wave of something came over him. The way Francis smelled filled his nose. He realized that if he closed his eyes he could picture every last detail in the Frenchman's face and body, down to the last hair. If he concentrated hard enough, Arthur could taste how how he tasted when they kissed. He could narrate the way he got undressed, what came off first and then how he put his clothes back on. He could outline the weekends at home, and what Francis would do in their right order, and he couldn't help but wonder if Francis knew all that about him.

That wave was realization that he knew Francis better than anyone.

"I-I like the hang of this better," he said softly, turning and taking a few steps across the carpet. He wrapped both arms around Francis's torso, warm and soft. The taller was taken by surprise, but reacted by turning and holding Arthur too. He had to agree. The hang of this, the hang of them was so much better than spending the day with any one of his friends. The Frenchman became concerned, however, when Arthur's arms squeezed him even tighter, and he refused to let up even the slightest bit.

"Arthur?" he asked, stroking the back of his head as green eyes looked up at him.

"I want you to kiss me," the Englishman said quietly, blinking away the tears that had begun to gather in the corner of his eyes for no reason. Francis did not need to be asked twice. He was aware of what that was in Arthur's eyes, now, and it seemed to be an ingrained feeling. So he cranked his neck down, holding Arthur's face in his hands and kissing his lips as hard as he could. Fingers wrapped around Francis's wrists, and Arthur kissed back fiercely. This was better than before. Not that anything before hadn't been wonderful, because it had, but this. Nothing even compared to being madly in love with your best friend. Arthur was lucky that this friend loved him back with just as much passion, if not more. He felt hands squeeze his shoulders, and in the back of his head, he could see that living room, hear those words _"Dinner is ready Amour."_ and decided that this man was the one he wanted to grow old with. This is how he wanted to spend the rest of his days. With Francis.

–

This was difficult.

To lie there with someone he loved, so close and warm, and feel like he was. Conflicted. Everything that had happened that day, from the minute they got up to the minute they went to bed together, was weighing down on Francis, pressure on all those still unopened jars inside him. He knew he was obliged to open them for Arthur, who was busy shifting positions in his arms, planting a stray kiss on his skin before settling back onto the pillow.

This was killing him.

To understand that Arthur did not know the things he knew. Francis understood that there were still secrets in a relationship, no matter how serious, but the ones he was keeping didn't feel right stuck inside him. He felt guilty for keeping them away from the one who deserved them most for as long as he had. He had, for some time, been gradually becoming aware that this was ripping his insides and flaking his outside. It hurt him so bad to keep Arthur from things. Francis knew things about Arthur no one else did, because he was trusted with that information. He wanted Arthur to know that he trusted him too.

This was going to be fixed.

"Arthur?" he finally asked, adjusting himself further sideways.

"Francis?" the other replied, clearly concerned. Late night conversations were non-existent, especially after they'd kept each other awake for several extra hours. The Englishman pushed himself up on one arm, and in the darkness he could see the outline of his partner lying next to him.

"I have somezing I want to tell you..."

And he reached back into the shelves and pulled out the jar he'd been hiding for the longest time, and popped the lid open.

The end.


End file.
